


Basara Monogatari

by ClockworkCourier



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCourier/pseuds/ClockworkCourier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oncoming war is one thing, since everyone is used to that by now. War between tanuki, kitsune, dragons, and tigers is something very different entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is kind of complicated to explain, but I'll attempt! This fic is essentially going to be a really long narrative alternate universe hodgepodge of actual mythology and my attempt to make it all fit together. By that, I mean like slapping pieces of Journey to the West with the Kojiki and expecting that it's going to be awesome. Or, I hope it will be.
> 
> So, in the spirit of Sengoku Basara, not everything is accurate. I can disclaim that already. I just wrote this for my own enjoyment and for the enjoyment of others. c:

The world of spirits was vast, and the range of those who lived within it was on an even more grand scale. It contained clans of tanuki, bands of oni who roamed endless forests, tengu who nested in the tallest trees, kitsune who stalked in the tall grass, dragons who prowled the skies and the seas, vengeful ghosts, and even reanimated objects such as teapots and umbrellas. Some wished only to live in peace with those around them, while others seemed to constantly be embroiled in war.

There was a loose hierarchy that at least helped to contain some of the strife that appeared. Four beasts patrolled the four cardinal directions, the four elements, and the four seasons. Each beast was appointed through careful consideration, as only the best were selected. There was the Seiryuu to the east, Suzaku to the south, Byakko to the west, and Genbu to the north.

Above them, there was no ruler, or supposedly there wasn’t. It was rumored that someone was always controlling the ebb and flow of the world, but that they were shrouded in the Void, and thus had no name or form. To the rest of the spirits, the Four Beasts were the most powerful beings and there was nothing stronger.

However, as time pressed on, some were becoming dissatisfied with how things were. They wanted one ruler above all, one who would dominate the heavens, the earth, and all things below it. In light of that, wars began to break out by those who strongly believed that they were capable of ruling everything. First, they fought in the name of their kind, then in the name of their clans, and eventually, in their own names. Anger spread like a pestilence, and as it did, many began to realize that there would someday have to be one to repair all that was being broken. The Four Beasts could not do it all.

\---

The heat of summer was sweltering, causing a haze to form above the grasslands outside the palace. In the distance, cicadas droned in their familiar hum, followed closely by crickets softly creaking in the grass closer to the numerous ponds around the compound. The ambiance was only cut by the distinct whistle of a bokken cutting through air. It struck the straw mannequin with a distinct crack, loud enough that a group of startled sparrows took flight from the grass nearby.

Bontenmaru turned, panting, sweat dripping down his face and off the bridge of his nose, to look expectantly at his instructor, who simply crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged with one shoulder. “A decent attempt,” he said, though it sounded more off-handed than honest.

“C’mon, Kojuurou! That was my best hit yet!” Bontenmaru whined, discarding the bokken and stomping over to the veranda of one of the palace’s lesser-used houses. Temporarily, in the stead of possible oncoming war, it was used as both barracks and storage. At the moment, it was being used for practice for the young lord and his brother.

Kojuurou gave a long-suffering sigh, moving to sit beside Bontenmaru who was now in a full pout. “My lord, your current best won’t help when you actually find yourself in battle. It’s good progress, I won’t deny that, but don’t stymie it by assuming that it’s the best you can do,” he explained.

“Should’ve said so earlier,” Bontenmaru muttered, staring down at his sandals as he kicked a loose clump of dirt.

“If I were to flatter you constantly, compliment you for every good move you ever made, you wouldn’t improve so quickly,” Kojuurou replied, watching as his young charge seemed to perk up at that.

“So, you’re saying I did good?”

“I’ll only give you the recognition you deserve if you continue to practice,” Kojuurou stressed, and then had to withhold a smile once Bontenmaru sprung from the veranda as if he had been coiled up the whole time. The boy quickly grabbed the bokken and resumed his thrashing of the mannequin with a renewed fervor. Soon, the drone of the insects around the palace was drowned out by the quick, harsh cracking of the bokken striking straw-filled sackcloth.

Kojuurou knew that he probably shouldn’t have given Bontenmaru a compliment early on in his practice session, especially given the circumstances as to why they were practicing so much in the first place. The eve of war was approaching like the sunset at the end of a summer’s day. Long as the day may have been, nightfall was inevitable. For that matter, war surrounded the palace by nature alone, as war courted dragons the way that flies courted flesh. Date Terumune, the lord of the palace, as well as the Dragon King of the East Sea, had the uncanny sense of knowing when war was to come, and now that one of his sons was old enough to begin his lessons, he made certain that Kojuurou was the best teacher that the young Bontenmaru could have.

At least, Kojuurou was intended to be, but unfortunately, he had fallen into a routine of appeasing the boy’s developing temper (though not without some discipline when he got out of hand) as well as simultaneously learning to enjoy Bontenmaru’s company. Bontenmaru had already inherited Terumune’s charisma, if only bit by bit. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately in Bontenmaru’s case, Kojuurou was already falling victim to it, despite having presented himself in the past as a resolute and clever warrior. One could only be so resolute around Bontenmaru.

However, recently, Kojuurou had begun to develop a more severe training regiment with the young lord, borne of both the oncoming, inevitable battles, as well as a questionable future. While Bontenmaru had all the makings of a leader-to-be, not everyone in the clan agreed. It was the birthright of the eldest son of the Date clan to become the King of the East Sea, and in the stead of it, to possibly take the position of Seiryuu, the Azure Dragon who ruled the East, if the son was so worthy.

Terumune desired nothing more than for his eldest son to be capable of taking that position. However, an illness mere years before had stolen away Bontenmaru’s right eye, leaving him, in the eyes of some members of the clan, incomplete and unfit to rule. Of all people, it was his mother, the cold and lovely Yoshihime, who was the most vocal about him being unfit. Instead, she offered her younger son, Kojiro, as a replacement. Fortunately, Terumune had the ultimate say, and he deemed Bontenmaru fit for his future position, if the boy could prove himself.

Much to Yoshihime’s chagrin, Bontenmaru was proving himself spectacularly. Even as the years went by, his cleverness was often enough to convince some doubters that there was nothing wrong with him. Of course, Kojuurou could see when their words would sting, especially about Bontenmaru’s half-blindness. In a moment of complete pride on Kojuurou’s behalf, Bontenmaru once announced that he didn’t understand why people said he was blind in one eye, as his Right Eye was always beside him. At that, he tugged on Kojuurou’s sleeve while beaming to a group of stunned lesser lords.

Kojuurou was startled out of his thoughts by a particularly loud cracking noise, only to look up in time to see the mannequin’s head fall off its body. Beside it, Bontenmaru stood, leaning slightly on his bokken with a ridiculously wide grin on his face. “And?” he asked expectantly, his eye fixed on Kojuurou as his grin widened until it seemed outright feral.

He had no idea how Bontenmaru had managed it. He couldn’t help but be impressed, especially since it appeared to be a very clean strike, despite Bontenmaru not being specifically skilled in the weapon itself.

“Very good,” Kojuurou finally managed to say, still a little in disbelief.

The Date clan was at least guaranteed an interesting future.

\---

To the south of the Dragon King’s palace was the Land of Kai. Kai was smaller than Oushuu, the land that the palace overlooked, but Kai had the reputation of being as fierce as those who dwelled within its borders. It was the land of tigers, specifically Takeda Shingen and his apprentice, Sanada Yukimura. Even the land itself was suitable for beasts, with rolling mountains and thick forests as far as they eye could see.

Although Shingen was the Tiger of Kai, and Byakko, the White Tiger of the West, he always had the distinct sense that his position was simply temporary. The new world and its ever-changing landscape had no need for old beasts such as himself. That was why he took Yukimura on as his protege, as the boy had all the spirit needed and simply needed the training to ease himself into that position.

Yukimura took on his tasks with all the ferocity of his kind. Even the most menial of chores, like fetching water from a well, or going out to get firewood were treated as if they were missions of utmost importance. Shingen once timed it, and found that it only took Yukimura a minute and a half to go to a well, draw water, and bring it back. It was impressive, seeing as how the well was fifty yards away.

As for training, Shingen found that warfare was something that Yukimura excelled in. He was an avid listener, and so remembered every single plan and ploy that came from a meeting. Although he hadn’t been given a chance to truly display his abilities, lessons alone were enough for Shingen to see the boy’s tenacity and ability. He channeled flame, both inside his very being and physically. Even his fighting ability had a taste of fire to it. It made Shingen certain that his decision was not in vain.

However, for all his strengths, Yukimura still had a lot to learn. He was young, still little more than a cub in comparison to the tigers that roamed Kai. As long as Shingen lived, he swore he would spend all the time he could teaching Yukimura all he could impart. One day, there would have to be a new Tiger of Kai, as well as the Byakko, and Shingen wanted nothing more than to see Yukimura worthy of becoming both.

Yet, Shingen could sense that his time was coming to a close sooner than he expected. The scent of blood and ash was faint in the air, and although it was little more than a passing thing, he could feel that it was edging closer each day. Yukimura would have to face the realities of battle earlier than Shingen had planned. Unfortunately, this also meant that Shingen would not be able to teach him as much, let alone spend much time with him at all. Yukimura needed a guide, or even just a companion to be there when Shingen couldn’t.

So, when the flames of war drew closer, Shingen began to look for just the perfect person to do the job. The answer came sooner than later, in the form of not a tiger, but a monkey. At least, that’s what Sarutobi Sasuke appeared to be at first glance. But for all of Shingen’s wisdom that came with his age, he could see that there was something else, just beneath the surface of Sasuke’s exterior, and it was enough to solidly convince him that there was no better companion. Sasuke was still young, so his energy would be more than enough to keep up with his new lord. He took the job quickly, although his excitement was replaced with a calm, casual agreement, only betrayed by his willingness to take the position.

Only then did Shingen even think to breathe easy. His protege still had a long road ahead, but then again, so did the entire country. It seemed as if every type of spirit would be drawn into the conflict. Shingen only hoped that it would end for the better.


	2. Chapter 2

The antechamber was far too dark and stuffy for Masamune’s liking. He had been sitting there for nearly an hour and his knees were beginning to ache. While Kojuurou looked away, he moved his hands to discreetly massage his kneecaps, only to retreat the second Kojuurou looked back.

He wasn’t completely sure why he had been forced to sit in the antechamber during the meeting. The way he saw it, he was an adult now, with the name he would carry for the rest of his life, not to mention the newly-grown horns on his head (stubby, yes, but they were there and that’s what counted) that signified his adulthood. Yet, there he was, straining his ears to attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation between his father and the rest of the lords who had since come to visit.

It was undoubtedly because of the war. The Date clan had done well to keep out of it, for the most part, aside from the rare battle to defend the border. However, as Kojuurou had predicted, it was only a matter of time until one of the clans loyal to the Date would ask for an ally, and their clan was the most powerful ally anyone could have. There had been a steady stream of visiting lords and clan leaders for the past few months, all asking the very same question: would the Date clan assist in the war against so-and-so other clan? Although Terumune had done well to convince the clans that the Date had no need for another war, it was certain that he couldn’t keep it up for long.

Masamune still didn’t understand politics and war as much as his teachers would have liked. He only could remember the basics of both, or at least the parts that didn’t have to deal with fighting. Fighting was something he excelled at.

“Kojuurou, why are we still sitting here?” he finally asked under his breath, annoyed with the dull conversation in the other room, and with the soreness that was now spreading up his spine.

Kojuurou kept his eyes on the shoji door in front of them, as if there was something very interesting written on it. “For if your father needs either of us,” he answered stiffly. Masamune could tell that he was growing annoyed as well.

“He won’t though.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Kojuurou replied.

Masamune leaned back to look around Kojuurou. Three maids were sitting just as they were, except each of them had a tray with a few small cups and a container of sake. He raised an eyebrow at this before looking back at his retainer. “We’re not maids, though.”

“They have to wait to be called just the same as us.”

With an irritated sigh, Masamune stared down at the tatami. There were a few places where the weaving was beginning to fray and he had to resist the urge to pick at the loose ends.

“And what of your eldest son?” a lord in the other room suddenly asked, causing Masamune to look up as if he was being personally called. He could hear Kojuurou shift beside him as well.

“What about my son?” Terumune replied, sounding unsure.

“Well, I mean, there have been rumors, your lordship. I’m sure I don’t have to regale them to anyone else in the room,” the lord said quietly, so that Masamune had to strain his ears to hear him.

Terumune grunted and Masamune could almost see him narrowing his eyes. “No, please do regale them. I don’t believe I’ve heard such things.”

There was a stretch of silence until someone cleared their throat. “Many have suggested that it’s your youngest son who will become the next Dragon King of the East Sea. It’s been said that your... honorable eldest son lacks the wisdom to rule, and, not to mention his... blindness.”

If the lord was going to say anything more, it wouldn’t be known, as there was suddenly a violent clatter, as if something had been struck to the ground. “If you are to suggest that my wisdom has not been clear in my choice of an heir,” Terumune snarled, undoubtedly baring his fangs at the lord, who Masamune imagined was trembling like a leaf in a heavy wind. “You are both sorely mistaken and unwise in your own assumptions. My son is far wiser than you may think, and as long as he has one eye to fix upon the land, he is capable of ruling it!”

“M-my apologies, your lordship! As I s-said, these were merely rumors!” the lord yelped.

“And make sure that they won’t be perpetuated,” Terumune said sharply.

There was another moment of silence, punctuated by the sound of something sliding across the wooden floor. In that time, Masamune could feel his feelings conflicting. On the one hand, he was proud of himself for earning such a compliment from his father. However, he also had evidently done, or not done something to garner a rumor like that. It was irritating, as he wanted nothing more than to prove that he was capable of being the next Dragon King, as well as someone who deserved to be a candidate to be the Seiryuu.

“Don’t say anything,” Kojuurou suddenly whispered to him, as if he could feel how tense his young master was becoming. Masamune turned to look at his face, only to find Kojuurou glaring at him in warning. “I know what you want to do, and I can say here and now that it would be the least wise course of action and won’t make any of those lords think highly of you, no matter what their opinion is right now.”

There were a dozen things that Masamune wanted to do right then, one of which was to burst into the other room and show the lords exactly how much he deserved his future title. However, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Kojuurou was right, as usual. Masamune would have to find some other means of earning the lords’ respect. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to do that.

Or, at least, no easy diplomatic way of doing it. Just as soon as he had begun to mope over it, an idea sprang into his head. He turned and tugged on Kojuurou’s sleeve. “You tell my father that we need to ally with some of these lords. He’ll listen to you,” he whispered urgently, his heart already beginning to pound with excitement.

Unsurprisingly, Kojuurou appeared bewildered and irritated at the same time. “Why would I want to do something like that? It’s not my place to say,” he responded harshly.

“Kojuurou, we need to go to war. I need to prove myself to them! War is the best way to do it, right?” Masamune explained, resisting bouncing up and down in place at the thought. He imagined himself a resolute general like his father, austere and powerful, a symbol to his army and his people. It was enough to make it even more difficult for Masamune to stop himself from running into the other room and saying it to his father directly.

Kojuurou now looked outright frustrated. He narrowed his eyes, using the face Masamune associated with harsh training. Evidently, he didn’t think it was as great of a plan. “Your father would never do something so rash. As for you, I thought you learned that glory is not the reason to go to war. In fact, you should--”

“Work harder to avoid it than get into it,” Masamune finished, sighing as he did so. “Yeah, I know that. But, what kind of dragons are we if we keep saying no every time someone asks us to help them in the war?”

“Wise. Far smarter than the dragons in the Western Sea,” Kojuurou replied tersely, turning his head to stare at the shoji again, a sure sign that he wanted the conversation to be over.

Masamune sighed again, lowering his head and wringing the silk fabric of his hakama in his hands. It was no use to try to persuade Kojuurou at this point. Kojuurou was dedicated to the Date clan, yes, but to him, Terumune’s choices and decisions always came before Masamune’s whims. There would come a day where Kojuurou would have to follow every command Masamune made, even if it meant to die in front of his master, but as long as Terumune lived, that wasn’t so.

Instead, Masamune quietly made a vow to himself. He swore that when his time came to rule over his clan, the land, and its people, he wouldn’t let anything get in his way. If he wanted to have a war, he would have one. He would prove himself to everyone, from the highest noble to the lowest peasant.

\---

There was a storm brewing in the distance. Sasuke watched it from his perch on the top of a tall pine tree. It was still a good distance away, but the brief flashes of lightning were unmistakable. It was certainly one of those nights where the best thing to do was to stay inside until it passed. At the moment, it seemed to hover menacingly above a distant mountain pass, which meant that there was still a few hours before it would hit.

However, the storm wasn’t what Sasuke had come up to watch. Although Kai had its fair share of watchmen and guards, they couldn’t see everything. At least, not like he could. The war had encroached on the borders of Kai, and it seemed like there was a new possible threat every day. Rival clans would try to quietly and stealthily permeate the borders, but Sasuke had proven himself to be an excellent watch. Even those who could hide under shadows were caught sooner or later.

Luckily, the threat of the storm seemed to deter any threat that day. There wasn’t a single flicker of a torch, or the familiar silver gleam of a drawn sword. For the time, it looked like they would be safe. That didn’t mean Sasuke could be off his guard, though. He gave one last look at the whole panorama before beginning his descent down the height of the tree.

As usual, Yukimura was standing at its base, looking at his companion expectantly. Sasuke effortlessly hopped to the ground from one of the lowest branches and shrugged. “Not a thing. Just a nasty storm heading this way. It’d be stupid to try to attack on a night like tonight,” he said, yawning and scratching at his cheek.

“That does not mean there’s not a possibility,” Yukimura said quietly, looking around the forest. It was dark in the shade of the setting sun, and in anticipation of the storm, most of the animals and birds had gone quiet.

“Yeah, but at least we don’t have to be on high alert tonight,” Sasuke replied. He grinned when he saw Yukimura’s tail twitch slightly. “I mean it,” he added.

Yukimura turned his head to look at his tail, frowning when it twitched again. He turned back around and sighed. “I know. It is just that the clans have been relentless lately, and Lord Shingen has been so busy with just keeping the borders clear. The burden shouldn’t be his to shoulder alone.”

“And it isn’t,” Sasuke stressed, putting one hand on Yukimura’s shoulder. It was a job in itself to calm Yukimura down, especially with how things had been lately. His friend was still very young in comparison to all the other warriors that served Shingen. However, Yukimura wanted nothing more than to prove himself and please their lord at the same time. Unfortunately, he had a tendency to overdo it, which led into Sasuke’s actual job. Shingen had made it clear that Sasuke was to look after Yukimura when the boy needed help, even when he wouldn’t admit it. Espionage was just a side job.

They walked back to the village together, both pleased with seeing villagers preparing for the storm. There were a few soldiers out, all standing alert, as if something could happen at any moment. When they saw Yukimura and Sasuke, they bowed deeply, some of them uttering comments of respect. Yukimura was always gracious with compliments, and often returned them with his own. Sasuke, on the other hand, still wasn’t completely used to them yet, so he would just nod in gratitude.

When they arrived at the compound, both of them were surprised to see a group of men standing near the stables, holding up a blue banner. Sasuke raised an eyebrow and paused in his walk, causing Yukimura to stop as well.

“What is it?” he asked, glancing over to the men.

Sasuke crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The Date clan. They’re a clan of dragons to the north. But... why are they here?”

“Dragons?” Yukimura echoed, now looking at the group with renewed interest.

“They’re a militant group, but they’ve been keeping themselves low to the ground for the past few years,” Sasuke explained, watching as one of the Takeda representatives spoke to them. From what he could see, it was a very polite exchange, with a lot of bowing and nodding. He was certain it was all pleasantries, which was good news. Even so, their appearance in Kai was strange, especially in a time of war. “Unless they’re planning on allying with the Takeda. But... I dunno. It’s really odd.”

“Do you think Lord Shingen would know?”

“I’m sure he would,” Sasuke agreed. “The head of the Date clan is the Seiryuu, too. I’m sure he and Lord Shingen go way back.”

Sasuke often forgot how young Yukimura really was. The idea of the Four Beasts was still a somewhat foreign concept, even though the head of the Takeda was one of them. He was sure Yukimura had heard of the Seiryuu, Suzaku, and Genbu, but he had no one to associate them with. At the thought of it, Sasuke sighed, knowing that meant he was going to have to be the one to teach Yukimura about it, seeing as how Shingen would undoubtedly be too busy to do it himself.

“Anyway,” he interjected, pulling himself from his own reverie. “I’ll listen in and see if I can find out anything.”

“Eavesdrop?” Yukimura asked, looking scandalized. He was just too loyal for his own good.

Sasuke laughed and nodded. “It’s what I do. Besides, it’s probably nothing too serious. Just a defensive pact or some kind of trade agreement. Nothing too exciting.”

That didn’t seem to put Yukimura at ease. His ears turned back so that they were pinned against his head. “Alright...” he said hesitantly.

Without another word, Sasuke disappeared, leaving Yukimura standing alone in the compound. The boy could feel all his hair stand on end, and just excused it as an effect of the oncoming storm. However, he couldn’t shake the terrible feeling of foreboding that began to fester deep inside him, especially when he turned his head to look at the Date clan’s banner.

\---

The room was dark and damp, as if it had been abandoned and left to the elements for years. However, a single torch flickered in the gloom, illuminating little more than a chair and a low-lying table. It was as if the darkness itself encroached on the flame, devouring its glow. In the distance, there was the barely audible sound of water dripping, though it was impossible to say where it was coming from.

“Mitsuhide,” a voice rumbled in the darkness, its source unknown. The voice seemed to come from the walls, from the floor, from the ceiling, and even from the torch. It was everywhere at once.

“My lord,” someone responded. The torch revealed a man kneeling low on the floor, silver hair touching the rotten tatami.

There was a rumbling sound, like thunder or an earthquake. “You have news,” the voice said, seeming to come from the rumbling. The sound the the dripping water became louder, the tempo quickening. Something like cloth shifted in the darkness, but nothing seemed to move.

“We’ve intercepted a messenger this morning,” Mitsuhide said, his voice like the hiss of a snake. He moved slightly, raising his head but not shifting his gaze from the floor. In front of him, a cockroach scurried out from under the chair, only to run back into the cover of the gloom.

There was a pause, and then an odd change in the atmosphere, as if the darkness itself was beckoning the man to continue.

“He came from Kenshin. I can assure, my lord, that it didn’t take much to persuade him to tell us what he knew,” Mitsuhide said, a grin spreading across his face, revealing two rows of pointed teeth, accompanied by two exceptionally long fangs. “Most of it was just hearsay, but some was helpful.”

“Explain,” the voice said, and the walls shuddered.

“Clans are beginning to unite. Even those repulsive dragons are coming out from under the rocks to join. He gave us the names of the clans that he was certain of, as well as which generals were planning on having talks on the matter. And...” he trailed off, and his grin began to fade. “There’s rumors of the Yellow Emperor returning.”

The rumbling returned, growing in volume until it was deafening. The torch flickered, almost going out. It felt as if the room itself was beginning to shift, the wood groaning, paper screens tearing left and right. In response, Mitsuhide bowed so deeply that his forehead touched the tatami. “My apologies. I’m just repeating what I’ve heard,” he said, hardly loud enough to be heard over the thunderous shaking.

All at once, it stopped. However, there was a distinct suffocating feeling. “Find out what you can,” the voice said, bordering on a snarl that would cause any lesser creature to faint.

“Of course, Lord Oda,” Mitsuhide promised, getting up and exiting the room as quickly as possible.

As soon as he left, the torch flickered out, and all that could be heard was the dripping of water.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to finish this chapter! Yeee! Part of it was that I just got a new laptop and it's somehow made it so much easier to write. ;w; At least after this chapter, the chapters are going to be much longer and much more detailed. I'm super excited for that. uwu

The scent of blood was pungent in the air, even as it faded away in the pouring rain. The storm wasn’t enough to completely wash away the trail of blood that led from a roughly-cut dirt road down to the shore of a narrow creek. There, nearly hidden away in a copse of thick trees, was a messenger, clad in a coat of yellow that was already being soaked dark red. The messenger lay face down in the creek, one hand outstretched as though he was reaching for something across the way. A gaping slash wound crossed his abdomen, not thin enough to be that of a sword wound, but deep enough to have been fatal. Oddest of all were two tiny puncture wounds on his neck, as if something had bitten him.

The messenger’s absence would go unnoticed for some time, but eventually, there would be a small party of warriors who would search for him. They would never find his corpse. He had sworn to his lord that if he were ever caught, his message would die along with him. Akechi Mitsuhide had made sure that it did.

\---

The humidity was annoying. In fact, everything seemed annoying in that moment. The steamy weather certainly didn’t help anything, especially Mori Motonari’s feelings about the letter he now clutched in his hands. He narrowed his eyes at it, as if he glared at it long enough, the contents would change. Yet, he reread it, and it was exactly the same. Chosokabe Motochika was offering his assistance to the wolves of the Mori clan. It was an obvious suggestion for allying themselves, but Mori took it as nothing less than an insult.

Two servants waited nervously at the side of the room, sending each other anxious glances before mustering the nerve to look up at their master. It was like waiting for a fuse to finally shorten out and detonate. Unfortunately for their nerves, Mori’s fuse was abnormally long.

“That imbecile thinks he can--” He cut himself off, throwing the letter down onto the table. It took all the restraint he had trained himself to have not to tear the thing to shreds.

“Lord Mori?” one of the servants bravely spoke up.

Mori turned to glare daggers at him. “What?”

The servant lowered his head and seemed to shrink away from his master. “L-Lord Chosokabe asked for a response as s-soon as possible. What should I say?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Mori reached up to brush some stray hair away from his forehead, irritated when it clung to his skin in the mid-afternoon heat. Now was possibly the most ridiculous time to ask for a response, especially when Mori was moments away from going to the bottom-feeding dragon himself and cutting him in half.

“Tell him that we’re far too busy with our own affairs to deal with his,” he all but snapped. He wasn’t normally prone to giving in to his temper, but this was an extenuating circumstance. There really was a fine line between acting civil and allowing his instincts to take over. Instincts would have him chase Chosokabe back into the swamp where he belonged, while not regretting if he accidentally bit off the dragon’s tail.

“Sir, if I may,” the other servant anxiously spoke up. “Lord Chosokabe might be a valuable ally to us. It might be of some benefit to at least... consider?”

Mori took in a deep breath through his nose, which was hardly helpful considering how humid it was. “Our clan is quite capable of defending itself. We do not need the assistance of anyone except the allies we already have. However, we can make use of his obvious desperation for help. That’s just a matter of time, honestly,” he explained, growing steadily more confident in his current plans the more he spoke of them. “It was an insult to suppose that we were so defenseless that we needed his aid. We have the sun on our side, after all.”

“Of course, Lord Mori,” the second servant replied, ducking his head low in respect. “It was foolish of me to suppose anything different.”

“It certainly was,” Mori said offhandedly, finally sitting in front of the table and looking down at the letter.

As far back as the Mori clan could trace in its records, the sun favored their lineage. It was said that the first in their clan was a direct descendant of the sun goddess. She gave them the form of wolf spirits, proud and strong, a deserving symbol of their clan. Each clan head was considered her child, no matter how far down the line they went. In turn, it was said that the sun would protect the Mori clan throughout its existence.

It was enough to make him confident in his choice. War was a dark and terrible thing, yes, but the sun did well to pierce darkness. War would be won on behalf of the Mori, so long as the sun continued to shine. For that, he was certain he needed no allies beyond his retainers and their clans, let alone a clan of dragons that dwelled in the murky waters of the swamps. After all, the sun seemed to shine a little less on places like that.

\---

It was one of those times where Masamune was a bit bitter at Kojuurou for being a full-fledged dragon. He knew it would have been so much easier to travel to Kai if they could just transform and fly there. However, Masamune was still too young to do that, though at this point, it was more like he had a difficulty in maneuvering, and trying to fly now would result in Kojuurou having to untangle him from a tree or fish him out of a river. At this point, though, anything was preferable to walking, especially the distance to Kai.

If Kojuurou was annoyed, he certainly didn’t show it. He walked with all the calmness and complacency of a monk, as though nothing made him happier than ridiculously long journeys. Oddly enough, Masamune wouldn’t have doubted it, especially since Kojuurou seemed strangely eager to volunteer to accompany the party on the trip in the first place.

The entire point of the trip was more or less to be a learning experience for Masamune. At least, that was what his father had said. What aspects of it were meant to be learned were still unknown, but Masamune had a sneaking suspicion that patience might have been one of them. The rest of it was certainly diplomacy.

In the past few months, three separate delegations from the Date clan had gone to Kai in order to begin discussions on alliances. The initial talks had been tentative, all very formal and careful, and never really resulting in anything fruitful on the alliance’s behalf. Terumune finally had decided to make the first large move, since rumors had begun to spread about the enemy’s behavior, and rumor or not, the news was alarming. Allies and defensive pacts were few and far between, especially since factions seemed to fall on a regular basis. So, in a show of confidence in the Takeda, he decided to send his son in his place. The idea was that he trusted the Takeda enough to send his eldest child and his heir, so in turn, the clan would think it fitting to return that trust.

Still, it made Masamune more nervous than he cared to admit. He had brushed over diplomacy in his lessons, never really paying much attention to anything more than the aspects of war involved. He had also eavesdropped on one or two war councils, but it was hardly anything he could emulate in this meeting. It was one of those moments that he was extremely grateful for Kojuurou’s presence.

At that thought, he stared down at the ground as he walked. “Kojuurou?” he said quietly, and by the silence that followed, he wondered if perhaps he was too quiet. Then, Kojuurou sighed, and it was signal enough that Masamune could continue. “Uh, not to sound stupid or anything, but, what exactly am I supposed to do at this meeting?”

Kojuurou turned to look at his master, one eyebrow raised. “I thought that was made clear to you before we left,” he replied.

“I... wasn’t really paying attention?” Masamune offered, but he could feel his shoulders raising in a sheepish shrug without really meaning to.

Again, Kojuurou sighed, though it was his typical long-suffering sigh. Masamune associated that sigh with making mistakes in sparring, like missing Kojuurou’s shinai completely and hitting him on the knee instead. “You’re there more for representation than the talks themselves. This is simply a show of confidence on the Date’s part than it is an actual war council. Although they’ll speak of the situation to us, and perhaps ask us what we think should be done, it won’t necessarily matter in the end,” he explained.

“So, I’m there to look pretty.”

“Essentially,” Kojuurou said, turning his head to hide what Masamune assumed was a very small grin.

It was Masamune’s turn to sigh, except he did his with far more gusto. “Why send me all the way there in the first place if I’m just gonna sit off to the side like I do at every other meeting?” he asked, although it came out more like a whine. If anything did annoy Kojuurou, it was whining.

Indeed, the grin that Kojuurou might have had disappeared quickly, replaced with a half-frown, as if he was resisting it. His stare narrowed at Masamune, meaning that the latter should pay close attention. “As I said, it’s a show of confidence. It’s also a lesson for you in diplomacy and leadership. You’re far too inexperienced in the subject of war to make any vital comment in the dealings of clan warfare,” he said stiffly.

“Are you saying I’m stupid?” Masamune asked, standing up a little straighter and attempting to look both offended and intimidating. It was a look he had been practicing for awhile, although the stubby horns on his head did take away from the intimidation factor quite a bit. Even so, there seemed to be no one better to practice on than Kojuurou.

“I’m saying that you still don’t know the full extent of your clan’s history, let alone your kind’s history, despite the fact you’ve had lessons for most of your life,” Kojuurou chided. Obviously, the intimidation look wasn’t working. In fact, even if it had been, it would have been promptly drowned out by Kojuurou’s own expression. The sharp turn of his horns made him look all the more fierce. If he opened his mouth any more and bared his fangs, he would have been outright terrifying.

The expression itself quieted Masamune’s argument, which would have been another complaint that Kojuurou was calling him stupid. However, he knew better than to argue now, so he just dropped his head and tried his best not to look as though he was pouting. There would come a day in the future where he wouldn’t be afraid to argue with Kojuurou, but that was obviously still a far-off thing.

There was a long silence between the two before Kojuurou sighed once more. This time, it was a sigh of defeat, usually made if the reverse happened and there was no point in arguing with Masamune. “My apologies, Masamune-sama,” he muttered. “I don’t mean to sound so harsh with you, but it’s imperative that you this sort of basic knowledge before you assume the role of leader.”

“I get that,” Masamune replied, trying not to sound petulant. It wasn’t working, so he took a deep breath and then gave Kojuurou a wide grin, showing off the fangs that were just beginning to really develop in his mouth. “Take it easy,” he tacked on, using the language he had heard from some of the men in his father’s army, especially the ones that liked to gamble with cards behind the storage huts.

“You shouldn’t use language like that,” Kojuurou said, although his expression betrayed him. He looked both amused and apologetic. It was one of those rare moments when it was useless to try to convince his young master otherwise.

\---

The moon was narrowed down to a pale silver, the according darkness making it almost impossible for Azai Nagamasa to see the scene below him. In truth, he didn’t want to see it, but it was his duty to scope out the landscape regardless, to see if the attack had been done correctly. It was his oath, and he would be the last creature in the world to go back on his promises. So, he steeled himself and felt his eyes adjusting to the limited light.

The village below the precipice he stood on was no more than a smoking wreck. What remained of houses were now just burnt wooden beams, stretching upward like smoke-blackened ribs. If he looked closely enough, he could just make out the faint glow of remaining embers in the charred remains of stores and homes. He looked away just as he began to make out the silhouettes of corpses in the streets. The silence alone told him all he needed to know. There were no survivors, which is precisely what he had been told to leave.

He would never say it out loud, but doubt was starting to weigh heavily on him. Nagamasa was incredibly loyal, perhaps to a fault as some of his men had admitted. Regardless of the atrocities that chased the reputation of his brother-in-law, the fearsome Oda Nobunaga, Nagamasa refused to betray him, let alone resist his oftentimes dastardly orders. If it meant keeping his people safe, along with his wife, Oichi, Nagamasa would do it, regardless of the war of morals that waged within him.

The doubt, however, crept in, encroaching on that seemingly dauntless flame of loyalty. What Nobunaga commanded was often outright murder, which weighed heavily on Nagamasa’s conscience. He was growing weary of ordering such attacks, the sound of screaming echoing into the night, the crackle of flames chasing his campaign like an echo. In this way, the Oda clan would gain nothing but enemies, and that began to put a damper on his ideals. The safety of those he cared for was being threatened, and there was little he could do about it.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing was that he was beginning to feel as if he was losing himself in the process of the war. Oda Nobunaga and his closest retainers seemed to be bathed in an ever-present darkness that spread like a poison. For the most part, Nagamasa and Oichi had avoided it, feeling safe in the presence of each other. However, the more that Nagamasa thought on it, he began to realize that he had even forgotten his own kind. He couldn’t recall what he had been, and it seemed like there was no remainder of any trait left on him. Darkness had eaten that away and left him more confused and doubtful than ever.

Quickly, he shook the thought from his mind. It was not his place to question his brother-in-law now. With the Oda was where Nagamasa’s true loyalty was forced to lay, and even if it meant sacrificing himself to it, he was prepared to do so. His conscience be damned. To clear his mind, he stormed away from the sight of the village and returned to his camp, where his soldiers slept peacefully, seemingly unperturbed by what they had accomplished that day.

He entered his tent without a word, expecting Oichi to be fast asleep. However, as soon as he stepped inside, it became horribly apparent that something was wrong. The bed was empty, the lamp beside it extinguished. In fact, most of the tent was cast in that familiar darkness which seemed to hover in every corner and fold, as if preparing to attack.

“Good evening, Lord Nagamasa,” came a soft, sultry voice from beside him.

Nagamasa took a step back as he turned, fighting back a gasp of surprise. Nouhime stood before him, the very image of beauty, with her kimono draped loosely around her shoulders, the crease of it split nearly all the way up to the bottom of her obi, exposing her famous butterfly tattoo. However, her face had some strange, demonic expression about it.

“To what do I owe this visit?” he managed, although there were hundreds of things he wanted to say.

Nouhime breezed around him, walking over to Oichi’s empty bed. She kneeled down, running her hand along the length of the single pillow, smiling as she did so. “I’ve heard some disturbing things coming from your end of the campaign. And as you know, I’m quite adept at listening.”

“I’m aware,” he replied quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on her, monitoring her every move. Like him, he didn’t know what she used to be. The only image he could conjure up for her was that of a snake, and even that didn’t seem to fit her. Her movements were just as fluid as a serpent, but her eyes were burning like coals, far too passionate to make her anything like one.

“And if you’re wondering about the whereabouts of your lovely wife,” she suddenly said, dragging her finger down to the bed itself before bringing her hand in front of her face and examining it with half-interest. “I’ve sent her away for the moment so you and I could talk. She seemed to understand, although she did look worried.”

“Where did you send her?” he asked, almost wincing when it came out like a snarl rather than a simple question.

She only grinned and sat back on her feet, staring down at the bed. “None of your concern. She’s perfectly fine and that’s all you need to know. You, on the other hand, are hardly that fortunate.”

The way she said it sent chills up his spine, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He thought for a moment of giving in to cowardice and leaving the tent, or perhaps acting on his mounting anger and attacking her, but did neither. Instead, he stood still, glaring, unable to say a word.

However, any thought he had at that moment was quickly dashed as soon as Nouhime pulled out one of her pistols and pointed it directly at his head.

“You know, Azai Nagamasa, doubt is considered a poison for the mind. I’d like to give you some benefit of it, but that’s hardly my place. It’s not becoming of a soldier to have a mind of his own,” she purred, her grin widening to an unreal length. Suddenly, he could see her for what she was, but had no time to think of it as soon as she pulled the trigger.

After that, everything was a blur. He couldn’t hear and he could hardly see. All he could make out was the dark silhouette of Nouhime standing over him, her eyes lit brightly as if kindled into a flame. Then, something moved on the other side of the tent and she disappeared. Just as the corners of his vision began to darken, violet and black filled his sight.

“O... Ichi...” he managed, and he wasn’t sure if he had said it at all.

She might have been crying, but he didn’t know. There was only a strange heat on his face, followed by the chill of her hands touching his jaw on both sides. Perhaps she was begging, perhaps she was already mourning. All he knew is that she hadn’t looked as lovely as she was since the day he married her.

As Azai Nagamasa died, the darkness moved from the corners and creases of the tent, baring down on Oichi and the dead man in her arms as if they were nothing more than easy prey. It moved so quickly that no one in the camp heard her scream. No one would know anything had happened until the morning came.


End file.
